


the poetry of us

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M, Fake Rivals, Opposite of Fake Married Trope, Secret Santa, broken furniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They dance around each other at work, pretending they don’t like each other but sometimes they slip up. Which usually results in broken furniture. Steve’s, primarily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the poetry of us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatStratford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatStratford/gifts).



> Sorry this is late! 
> 
> But better late than never.

“Doing anything this weekend Barnes?”

He glances up at Natasha, eyebrows rising slightly in surprise at the casualness of her question; she smirks, leaning against the counter near the coffee machine and if she wasn’t a little bloodstained and covered in rubble, it’d be just like a typical Monday in the office.

If they worked in an office.

And it wasn’t Friday.

“Um,” he says, eyes flicking around the conference room they’re holed away in, waiting for Fury to grace them with his presence. “Well, I’m house-sitting for Steve and Sharon,” he continues, slowly, brows lowering as he tries to figure out just the right thing to say to her.

Anything to not raise suspicion with the other agents and various superheroes scattered around the room. 

She arches a single brow, smirk growing and eyes starting to sparkle and he sighs. 

_ Here we go again Buck. _

“House sitting?” she murmurs, a slight growl hidden behind her words and she’s leaning towards him now, those damn eyes daring him.

Daring him to kiss her in front of all of their friends.

To take her arms in his hands and push her up against the wall beside the poor, innocent coffee pot.

That he’d paid to replace after the last time they’d been in this damn conference room.

“Natasha,” he mutters, under his breath, eyes flicking once more in Steve and Clint’s direction.

They’re not paying attention though and Natasha’s body heat is starting to get really distracting.

“Remember last time? We’re supposed to keep this  _ quiet _ .”

_ This _ being them and them being sort of Avengers and sort of SHIELD agents and sort of partners and work relationships are one of those things that shouldn’t happen with any of the above job descriptors.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” she whispers, small body all dusty and blood spattered and _damn_ _it all to hell Natasha_ easing up against his. “We could have a weekend to ourselves, without roommates and bunk beds and since we’re both on leave now…”

Open-ended.

She leaves the sentence open-ended.

Fuck.

She’s toying with the ridges in his arm, with the zipper in his jacket, with the edges of his mask.

And somebody is damn well going to notice them. 

He clears his throat and pushes away from her, “Jesus Romanoff,” he snaps, loudly, “I’m sorry I missed that guy who snuck up on you. I was busy keeping the heat off of Steve’s back. Cut me a break.”

Her eyes widen slightly as the room falls into an awkward silence, all eyes on them now and he mouths  _ I’m sorry _ , even as he throws his hands in the air.    
“I know I’m not what you’d call, ‘the best’ at undercover but that doesn’t mean you have to compare me to Barton all of the time. Christ. I need a shower. I’ll get debriefed by Fury later.” 

And he storms out of the room, heat washing up his neck to his ears and the last thing he sees is Natasha folding her arms across her chest and her eyes narrowing in icy anger.

_ Well, you’ve done it now Barnes,  _ he thinks to himself as he rushes to the shower block, heart hammering in his chest, the panels in his arm whining in agitation as he rushes away.  _ She’s going to murder you tonight. _

He can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Huh, that was strange,” Clint Barton says, back in the conference room, his eyes locked on Natasha’s face. “Did the Winter Soldier just say I’m a better spy? That’s definitely fishy.” 

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just smiles to herself and takes a seat beside Sharon.  

“He’s just mad because he knows you’re the better sniper, Clint,” she says, pulling a plate of danishes towards her and taking a sip of coffee James had poured for himself but left behind. 

Steve, Sharon, Sam and Clint just stare at her and she almost laughs at the confusion she sees in their eyes.

This game of hers and James’ has been going on for ages now.

And it’s possibly the greatest part of this whole stupid affair. 

How to confuse their friends, while maintaining the cool demeanor of professional spies.

_ Yes, he’s going to pay for this, this time around.   _

It’s a thought that excites her as much as she knows it excites him.

**

Steve and Sharon have been living together for nearly a year now and it’s not as weird as it was in the beginning. 

For one thing, Sharon is better at decorating than Steve.

For another, they’re so quiet about their relationship, most people forget they’re even together. 

That is until Sharon invites people over for pizza and Steve opens the door to their loft. 

“Okay, so the only thing you really need to keep an eye on are the orchids,” Steve is saying the day Bucky comes over to get the lowdown on his Steve/Sharon loft house-sitting assignment. “They only get watered once a week but you have to make sure they’re not getting too much sun and that they’re getting fertilized.” 

Sharon has her arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, trying to get him out the door and Bucky smiles at her, before pushing Steve gently away. 

“Yeah yeah, I get it Steve,” he says. “I read all five of your emails several times.  I think I can take care of some weird parasitic flowers. It’s not going to be that hard.” 

Steve hesitates still, eyes narrowing first at Bucky and then at Sharon. “No parties,” he says, pointing imperiously at Bucky, his “Captain America” voice in place. 

Which is pointless, considering they’ve both carried the shield at some point in their long careers. 

Bucky and Sharon roll their eyes and she groans. “C’mon Steve. He’s 97, not 17. He’s going to be  _ fine. _ ”

Steve doesn’t listen to her and doesn’t let her pull him through the door. “And no  _ girls _ Buck. Okay? My orchids don’t need to witness your naked ass running around this place, d’ya hear me?”

Captain America voice notwithstanding, Bucky just grins. 

“All right  _ Dad _ ,” he groans, finally shoving Steve out the door and winking at Sharon who just shakes her head and sighs. “I promise to drink all of your beer and watch all of the shows you have queued up on Netflix. Now get out of here you two. Have a good vacation. Your orchids will be  _ fine. _ ”

Steve doesn’t let it go though.

Not yet, anyway.

Sharon groans and drags her suitcase towards the elevator, tossing over her shoulder, “If you’re not down at the car in five minutes Rogers, I’m leaving for Copa without you.”

“I’m serious Buck,” Steve says, finger stabbing into Bucky’s chest, punctuating each word. “No  _ girls. _ And definitely no  _ Romanoff. _ The last time you guys had a one-off you broke a conference room table and the coffee pot. So leave my apartment out of whatever it is you two have going on.”

“‘Going on?!’” Bucky sputters, neck warming, hands raised in surrender. “We don’t have anything going on. And that table was not broken by me or Natasha.  It was-it was…”

Hmm.

Steve just glares at him and snorts. 

“That’s what I thought. Just keep it G in our apartment this week, okay Buck? For the sake of Sharon’s furniture and my flowers.  Please.”

Bucky sighs and waves him away.  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry.  Just go have fun with your girl, Rogers. Your place will be  _ fine.” _

The lie almost falls from his teeth smoothly. 

As it is, the two of them just stare at each other for a long moment, their ancient friendship passing between them and Steve groans, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“Just promise me you won’t break anything Buck,” he grumbles, bending to grab his duffle bag. “Sharon will kill me if she comes back and her favorite lamp or chair is broken.”

“It’ll be  _ fine, _ ” Bucky says, praying to God that he’s right. 

That this time…

This time he and Natasha will be able to keep some of the chaos of this thing they’ve got going on to a minimum. 

“Have a great vacation Steve.  You deserve it.” 

The elevator closes on Steve’s warning glare and Bucky sighs in relief, sagging against the doorframe for a moment, eyes closing. 

He doesn’t get long to process the conversation he’s just had though before his phone vibrates in his back pocket.  

_ They’re gone. Finally. I’m coming up. Put on your best lace panties Barnes. _

“Fucking hell Natasha,” he groans, leaving the door unlocked and moving towards the kitchen and the well-stocked supply of beer. 

“One of those I can definitely provide,” she drawls from the front door and he can’t help but smile, before popping the cap off of his bottle. 

“And here I was hoping for fucking,” he shoots back and her laugh.

God.

How can he keep this thing he’s feeling for his sort-of partner quiet anymore?

How can they keep from breaking everything they touch?

Including each other. 

“C’mere Natalia,” he growls, tugging her into the living room and towards the couch. “You’ve been driving me mad.” 

She laughs again, that husky voice of hers washing over him and yeah.

Yeah, this is hell.

And he loves it. 

“Mission accomplished,” she purrs, body sprawling across his, hips pressing into his with a succulent roll. “Let’s see how much damage we can wreak this time, shall we James?”

And his name, falling so casually from her lips…

God it’s bliss and he doesn’t care that he basically promised his best friend, the man he’s known since they were brats running through the grimy streets of Brooklyn, that he wouldn’t do anything even remotely dirty in his apartment.

He doesn’t care.

Because he’s got the Black Widow in his arms.

And for the first time since they started this thing they’ve got going on, when no one else on their team was ever supposed to know, it feels like bliss.

Perfect fucking bliss.

“You better have your best lace on, Barnes,” she growls, teeth flashing in a dangerous grin as she starts unbuttoning his jeans. 

He grins back and folds his hands beneath his head. 

“I put the red ones on, just for you Nat,” he says and her purr of approval makes his cock jump and his muscles tense. 

“Good boy,” she says and yeah.

Yeah, he’s wearing lace. 

Just for her.

Because he might have promised Steve no girls.

But...he’s always been a filthy liar when it comes to her. 

“God yes,” he whispers, hips pressing towards her lips, her warm breath washing over him through the delicate lace he wears. 

_ God… _

This is a whole different kind of hell.

**

They get through a week of house-sitting without breaking anything.

Well, almost.

It’s his fault that Sharon’s favorite antique lamp (it was Peggy’s so this is a whole different level of bad) shatters.

But considering their track record…

One busted lamp is pretty good. 

“Okay, this one might be hard to get out of,” he mutters the morning before Steve and Sharon are supposed to get back. They’re standing over the broken lamp, both cradling cups of coffee, both rocking messy sex hair. She’s in one of Sharon’s silky robes, bare feet curled into the living room carpet.

He’s not in anything.

And that lamp…

“I think I saw superglue in the kitchen,” he muses, hand rising to scrub at the scruff on his jaw. “Maybe we can glue it up good enough they won’t notice.”

Natasha just shakes her head.

“Sharon will notice,” she says, sipping her coffee thoughtfully. “That was her aunt’s lamp.”

“Shit,” he breathes, bending to stroke the chips of gold and blue plated pottery. “This was  _ Peggy’s _ ?!” 

She shrugs and squats beside him. “We might have to come clean about this.  About  _ us  _ James.”

He freezes, eyes shooting up to meet hers and he swallows heavily. 

“You mean-you mean  _ us  _ us, Nat?” He waves his hand between them.  “ _ This  _ us?”

She just smiles and bumps her shoulder into his.  “Yeah,” she says, sipping her coffee as she studies him. “I do mean  _ us _ .” 

“Oh.”

All he can do is stare. 

All he can do is think about...about  _ them. _

It’s been months, months of clandestine meet-ups, in empty gyms, in broom closets, in deserted conference rooms.

It’s been months of dancing around each other, trying to maintain a professional working relationship.

While growing  _ this _ thing they have between them.

All without anyone noticing.   
“Okay,” he breathes and then he’s kissing her.

She sighs, opening her mouth for him and he makes a conscious effort to set his mug on the coffee table beside them and to take hers as well. 

He makes a conscious effort to roll her away from anything that may be delicate, any sort of family heirloom that may hold double the meaning for both of their friends.

Her body is so warm beneath his and God  _ yes. _

He likes the taste of  _ us. _

**

“You know, you owe me for this,” Steve says, the morning he and Sharon finally get back home, bleary eyed from the long flight home and a week of blissful vacationing. 

She’s staring at the lamp- _ Peggy’s _ lamp with something like resignation in her eyes-and Bucky winces.     
“Anything Steve, anything,” he says, voice quiet and heart hammering in his ears. They didn’t get a chance to glue the lamp together.

They didn’t…

Well, they only barely managed to get their clothes on and get her out onto the fire escape before Steve’s key was jiggling in the lock and he and Sharon were slipping through the front door. 

Steve just sighs, rubs a hand across his eyes and wraps an arm around Sharon’s waist.  

“Just ask Natasha out, please, if not for your sake, then for all of ours. None of our furniture can survive your secrets for much longer.”

Sharon snorts at that and smiles at Bucky.  

“Thanks for keeping Steve’s orchids alive, at least Barnes,” she says and he grins. “I hope your furniture survives you and Romanoff.”

He sputters but the other two just grin before shoving him out the door. 

**

The first day they become an  _ us _ they break his bed. 

He doesn’t care though.

Because for the first time, it’s just a stupid piece of furniture from IKEA and she’s laughing in his arms.

And it’s good.

So damn good. 

  
  
  



End file.
